October’s child is born for woe
And life’s vicissitudes must know;
But lay an Opal on her breast
And Hope will lull those woes to rest.
Oliver Cummings Farrington.
THE CROCUS.
“Rest, little sister,” her sisters said—
Violet purple and wild-rose red—
“Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out,
Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout.